Aphelion
by Souris
Summary: What effect has Noah had on Sydney and Vaughn? **FINAL CHAPTER ADDED**
1. Sydney

Aphelion  
By: Souris  
Rated: PG   
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Never will be. Entertainment purposes. J.J. Abrams. Yadda yadda.  
Author's Note: What effect has Noah had on Sydney and Vaughn? This was written after "Masquerade," and I don't know that it fits as well after "Snowman," but I'm posting it anyway. It's chock-full Ôo angst, angst and more angst!  
***** Contains a mild allusion to a SPOILER for an upcoming episode, but nothing specific*****  
  
Aphelion: the point in the path of a celestial body that is farthest from the sun.  
  
  
Sydney rolled over and glanced at the clock. 5:34 a.m. She sighed. It had been close to 3 a.m. by the time she had finally dozed off after hours of tossing and turning. And now she was wide awake again, physically exhausted but unable to quiet her mind. She had lost count of how many nights and mornings had followed the same pattern in the past three weeks.  
  
When she did sleep, her dreams often made her wish she hadn't. Wild, tumultuous images assailed her, images of her mother, her father, Danny, Sloane, Will, Francie, Noah, Emily, Vaughn --variously dead or dying, running from her or attacking her, killing each other or pulling her from the brink of horror.  
  
She wondered if she was going mad. Or had already gone far past that point.  
  
Increasingly, she had found herself dreaming of Michael Vaughn. She had dreamed of him before in the months that she had known him, but those dreams had been decidedly pleasant. These ... were not. These made her ache inside.  
  
In one dream, they had been in the warehouse, when suddenly it had filled with fog that billowed up in an instant, think and blanketing. One moment he was standing in front of her, close enough to touch; then the fog had obscured him from her sight. She had put out her hand to grab onto him, but he wasn't there. She had called and called for him, but he didn't answer. Then she was outside and the warehouse was gone, leaving her alone in a vast concrete field.  
  
She had woken up screaming his name.  
  
She knew why she was having these dreams about him. It was no great psychological revelation. She had felt the distance growing between them almost from the moment that Noah -- just thinking his name was like a dagger's thrust -- had re-entered her life.  
  
She had known that Vaughn was attracted to her, that he cared about her perhaps more than he should have. She hadn't known quite what to do about it, hadn't been quite ready to *do* anything about it. She knew that she was attracted to him, but it had seemed too dangerous, too frightening, too foolish to pursue. But now ... now it was as if he no longer cared for her the same way.  
  
Oh, it wasn't as if he was rude or brusque; he was never that. He was concerned and polite and determined to keep her safe. He had continued to take chances to help her. He was never anything but professional.   
  
She hated "professional."  
  
If she had never seen how soft and warm his green eyes could be, how his face could light up with the most brilliant smile she had ever experienced, how his gaze could make her feel as if she were the only person in the universe, how a few light words could make her laugh no matter how deep her anguish or fear, she would have thought him perfectly attentive.  
  
But she had seen those things, and she now ached with their absence.  
  
Out of all the things that she had lost in the past few weeks -- confidence in her judgment, Will's trust, the hard-won ease with her father -- somehow the sparkle in Vaughn's eyes tormented her the most. Perhaps because it was the one thing that she most feared never recapturing.  
  
What made it worse was that she knew that it was her fault, that the distance between them was because of her single-minded fixation on finding her mother and her misguided trust in someone that she had welcomed back into her life far too readily. Neither of those things required any great psychological insight to explain, either; she had been needy and desperate and tired of her situation, and that had led her on a self-destructive path that showed little regard for anyone but herself. She had come so close to making the mistake of her life....  
  
Being able to understand her actions clinically didn't make her feel any better. It certainly didn't assuage her guilt and self-recrimination over how she had acted, how she had hurt those around her. She had seen that hurt written plainly on Vaughn's face, before he donned a mask of his own, invisible but no less concealing.  
  
She knew now, with a realization that made her sick inside, that she had never fully appreciated Vaughn's commitment to her and her happiness. What she had left of that commitment now seemed a pale substitute.  
  
He never asked her about anything but work anymore. No more questions about Francie or school. No more transparently jealous inquiries about Will. No more appreciative glances or sweet compliments that sent tingles throughout her body.  
  
When she asked him about Weiss or his nemesis Haladki or his hockey, he answered with just enough information to be politely friendly, never more than she had asked for. When she told him about anything personal, feeling as if she were taking horrible advantage of him but unable to stop confiding in him or give up that connection, he listened, but she could sense a detachment that had never been there before. When she smiled at him, he smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes.   
  
It was perhaps -- probably -- selfish of her, but she wanted him back the way he had been before. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that she had been selfish where he was concerned. She knew that she had hurt him twice over -- with Noah and with her mother -- but she wanted him back more than just about anything.  
  
Yesterday, she had worn a short skirt and tank top to their meeting at the warehouse, had applied her makeup carefully and fussed with her hair, not even realizing that she had dressed for him until he didn't even notice. She had sat in her car in a daze for a few minutes before driving away with moist eyes, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of loss and disappointment.  
  
She glanced at the clock again. 7:21. He would probably be up. He might be up. She had to hear his voice; she had to see him. She could come up with some excuse to meet him later than day, before she left on the mission to Budapest. And then ... then she could tell him how sorry she was. She had said it before, but she needed to say it again. She needed to tell him how much she missed him, how much he meant to her, how grateful she was that he was in her life. She had a lot to make up for.  
  
She reached to the bedside table for her cell phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time, so that she feared he wasn't up after all.  
  
"Hello. Michael's phone." The sleepy woman's voice that answered hit like a roundhouse kick to her stomach. She opened her mouth but could not speak.  
  
"Hello? Is anyone there?" the woman asked.  
  
"Who is it?" She heard Vaughn's voice in the background, then suddenly in her ear. "Hello?"  
  
She hung up, staring at the phone in her hand. Thought would not come. Breath would not come. Only pain came, sharp and dull and throbbing and lancing all at once.  
  
Why does this hurt so badly? she wondered as the bitter taste rose in her throat. But she knew; she knew that she had wanted him and had had him and had lost him. She gathered a pillow to her chest and wept, silently, so that Francie could not hear.  
  
-------  
  
I'm sorry, guys, that this wasn't the promised warehouse scene for "Une Nuit." After No!Augh, I just wasn't in a shmoopy Syd/Vaughn place. I'm sure I'll get back there later. Actually, I'm already kind of there again. I was just *really* displeased with Sydney in "Masquerade," and I kinda needed to make her suffer and atone before I felt that she was worthy of Vaughn again. I'm also thinking of doing a Vaughn-POV companion piece to this if the angst isn't *too* overwhelming! And I also have an idea for extending it and making a real VSR arc out of it. 


	2. Vaughn

Author's Note: And the angst continues...! This time it's Vaughn's turn. Thanks to Bella for beta-ing both parts!  
  
Chapter 2  
Aphelion: Vaughn  
  
Michael Vaughn braced his hands against the shower stall and let the hot water pour over his downbent head. He wished it could make him feel clean.  
  
Weiss had been badgering him for months that he needed to "get back in the saddle" after Alice -- and get over Sydney, he hinted but did not say. He wasn't sure which of them was more surprised when he'd finally said OK to Weiss' plea two weeks ago to set him up with one of his girlfriend's friends.  
  
Sarah was a lawyer. She was lovely and smart and nice and almost as much of a workaholic as he was. They had had three pleasant dates -- and the third one had ended in his bedroom.  
  
He had lied to himself last night that sleeping with Sarah had absolutely nothing to do with yet another frustrating meeting with Sydney Bristow.  
  
He had told himself the truth this morning.  
  
Everything he had done last night had been an unconsciously calculated attempt to get over her, maybe even -- if he was completely honest with himself -- to punish her a little bit.  
  
Try as he might, he hadn't been able to banish Sydney from his thoughts or emotions for the past three weeks. Ever since Noah -- the name always felt close to a snarl in his head -- he had had to confront the knowledge that Sydney didn't care for him as he did for her.  
  
He had tried not to pressure her too much with his feelings, knowing that she needed time after Danny. Or so he had thought. Noah had shown that her reticence wasn't just because of mourning. It was because she simply wasn't interested in him that way. The hockey invitation, which had sent his emotions soaring at the time, had been more of a defiant gesture against SD-6 than motivated by any desire to be with him. He knew that now.  
  
And to think, he'd babbled to her at the observatory about wanting to be with her, too. No wonder she hadn't responded; she must have felt such pity for him. Clearly, they had very different ideas about their "someday" relationship. He had seen a romantic promise; she had seen friendship.  
  
Well, so much for that, then, he had vowed. He was going to toss that expectation on the trash heap where it belonged. He had no hope for a future with Sydney, so he was going to stop thinking about one.  
  
He would be her handler only; that was all he should ever have been anyway. He would do his damnedest to keep her safe and bring down SD-6 -- but only because it was the right thing to do. There would be no thoughts of potential fringe benefits, of what might await them when Sydney was finally free of her double life.  
  
And if he had to fight his urges to comfort her and embrace her -- so what? Hadn't he been doing just that for months already? At some point, those urges would go away. They had to.  
  
He had been almost angry when she had walked into the warehouse yesterday in the skimpiest outfit he'd seen her wear, her hair and makeup far more dramatic than usual. For a moment, he'd wondered if she was mocking him. That hadn't kept the usual desire from rising within him, though -- and that had only made him angrier. He had cut the meeting as short as possible and gotten out of there before he said or did something that he would surely regret.   
  
Why could he not stop wanting Sydney Bristow? He needed to stop wanting Sydney Bristow, if for no other reason than his own sanity.  
  
And so when Sarah had expressed an interest in meeting Donovan, he had invited her back to his place, and then he had kissed her and he had slept with her.  
  
There was certainly no commitment between him and Sydney. Whatever "understanding" he had thought had been between them had been proven false by her instant renewal of a relationship with -- snarl -- Noah. OK, so he had turned out to be a sociopathic assassin and had ended up skewered by his own knife in a fight with Sydney; despite a certain shameful satisfaction on his part, that didn't change the fact that Sydney had chosen someone else. And then had laid her grief over Noah's death at his feet, without regard for how her tears over another man would stab his heart. She hadn't even seemed angry about Noah's lies, which baffled and infuriated him.  
  
He hadn't done a damn thing wrong by sleeping with Sarah. He was single and unattached and couldn't keep waiting and hoping for something that was never going to happen. He had spent far too much time being jealous of the other men in Sydney Bristow's life: Noah, the seemingly ubiquitous Will, hell, even Danny. How twisted was it to feel jealous of a dead man, just because he'd been lucky enough to have been loved by Sydney? It was pitiful and stupid and he was going to stop it. His life was going to be *his*. It had been hers long enough.  
  
So why did he feel so damn guilty? He hated himself this morning, and he hated himself for hating himself.  
  
Gradually, he became aware that the water was rapidly approaching lukewarm. He banged his palm -- softly -- against the wall in frustration, then turned off the water and reached for a towel. He had barely begun drying off when he heard his phone ringing. Dammit. At this hour, it was probably the office with news of some fresh horror related to SD-6.   
  
"Sarah, can you get that, please?" he shouted, suddenly somewhat glad for the morning icebreaker. After a moment, he heard her mumble an assent, her voice husky from sleep, and the ringing stopped.  
  
He threw on the robe that Alice had given him one Christmas and hurried into the bedroom.  
  
Sarah shrugged at his unspoken "Who is it?" look, and he took the phone from her. "Hello?" he asked and immediately heard the click as the caller hung up.  
  
With a strange, inexplicable certainty, he knew that it had been Sydney. He could've *69'ed it, but he didn't need to.  
  
The realization left his emotions churning as he hung up the phone. Part of him felt even guiltier than before, ashamed that Sydney knew about Sarah. And part of him felt a smug sense of victory, wondering if she would possibly feel even a *twinge* of the pain he'd felt over Noah.  
  
"I hate early-morning wrong numbers. Or was that your other girlfriend?" Sarah teased with a yawn.  
  
Vaughn shook his head. "I don't have another girlfriend," he said firmly.  
  
---------------  
  
You know, I think I'm actually going to take this somewhere instead of just leaving it an angsty vignette. I'm not quite sure exactly *where* I'm going to take it, but I do have an idea for the next chapter. 


	3. Lost

Author's Note: Well, after the finale, this story has just gone completely AU. Vaughn's not extremely damp, and Weiss hasn't become a narking weasel. And I don't think I'm furious at Syd anymore. But she still has to suffer for one more chapter, because that's how I'd planned it, dammit.  
  
  
Aphelion, Chapter 3: Lost  
By: Souris  
Feedback: souris@vartanho.com  
  
Outside the warehouse  
City of Industry  
  
Sydney sat in her Land Rover outside the warehouse, trying to force herself to go inside.  
  
Budapest had been ... awful. She hadn't been able to get any sleep on the plane. Normally, she could nod off before the flight attendant had brought around the first drink, but this time she had squirmed and shifted the entire trip, unable to get comfortable, unable to stop her mind from replaying a husky woman's voice saying, "Hello, Michael's phone" in an endless, maddening loop.  
  
As a result, she had been exhausted when they got to Hungary and barely able to concentrate on making the switch at the party. When the guard found her in the office, she'd been a step slow, and he'd quickly gotten the upper hand. If not for Dixon coming to her rescue, she would probably be dead now -- either from Staneck's goons or SD-6's security section.  
  
At least she had the disk to give to Vaughn. That is, if she ever worked up the nerve to go inside. She'd already been out here for five minutes. She ached to see him -- and yet, she knew that it would hurt like hell to actually see him and imagine him with *her*. Of course, she could do that just as well out here, or anywhere else for that matter, as she'd proven all too well the past two days.  
  
She took a deep breath, got out of the car and walked inside. Steeling herself for her first view of him, she turned the corner -- and found Agent Weiss leaning against a stack of crates.  
  
She came to a halt as, just for an instant, the warehouse seemed to spin around her, questions and possible answers flying through her mind, each one more horrible than the last.  
  
"Where is he?" she demanded, trying to regain her equilibrium amid the paralyzing chill spreading throughout her body.  
  
"I don't know," Weiss said.  
  
"What?" Sydney couldn't process this. "What do you mean, you don't know?"  
  
"I mean, I don't know. All I know is that Devlin called me into his office half an hour ago and told me that I was going to be meeting with you today to pick up a disk. I asked where Michael was, but he wouldn't tell me anything else, just told me to get going."  
  
"Is he OK? Has something happened?" A deep-rooted worry, one that had hovered insidiously at the back of her mind for the past few weeks but that had been too painful to fully acknowledge, suddenly came clamoring to the forefront. Her voice broke, but she had to know. "Did he -- did he ask to be removed from my case?"  
  
Weiss looked at her strangely. "Why would he do that?"  
  
"I don't -- I don't know." But she did know. Sydney brushed her hand across her eyes, willing the tears that she could feel forming not to fall. "I just want to know where he is and that he's OK."  
  
"Sydney, I'm sorry, I don't know anything," Weiss said gently, a bit dismayed at her evident, immediate distress. "He was fine yesterday -- a little moody, but frankly, that's hardly unusual lately. He was late to work this morning, but I just figured he had a meet with you. Then Devlin called me into his office, and I didn't have time to ask around. I don't -- this isn't like him."  
  
It wasn't. It was tremendously unlike him. He wouldn't miss a meet with her lightly. Either he wanted nothing else to do with her, or something was terribly, terribly wrong; both possibilities rocked her to the core. "Where does he live?" Sydney demanded "I'll --"  
  
"Sydney, are you nuts? You can't go by his house!"  
  
"Fine, then you go! Just -- I have to know. Please."   
  
The pain and pleading in her last word was almost more than he could bear. "I'll find out, OK? Look, it could be nothing. It's probably nothing. Maybe his car broke down or his dog got sick and he had to take him to the vet, and Devlin was just being an ass. So don't freak out yet."  
  
She nodded, but her worry was barely lessened. She pulled the disk out of her purse and handed it to him. "You'll call me the *second* you know anything, right? I don't care what time it is or what I'm doing, I'll meet you."  
  
He attempted a smile and touched her elbow lightly on his way out, leaving her staring around the empty, silent warehouse.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Later that afternoon  
Warehouse  
City of Industry  
  
"Well?" She stopped her pacing and strode toward Weiss as he entered the warehouse. She felt as if she had been waiting for hours, but it had probably only been five minutes. With as many traffic violations as she had committed on her way, it was no wonder she'd beaten him here.  
  
"According to Devlin's secretary, he's on vacation."  
  
Sydney blinked at him. "Vacation?" It was one possibility that hadn't even crossed her mind.  
  
"That's what she said. She said that Devlin had her file the paperwork this morning. Which is actually really strange because --"  
  
"Why would he suddenly decide to go on vacation without telling me?" Sydney interrupted. "Or you? That doesn't make sense." But, then, with a sickening, painful rush, all at once it did make sense. "He went with his new girlfriend, didn't he?" she asked softly.  
  
"What new -- oh, you mean Sarah?" Weiss eyed her steadily. "I'd hardly call her his girlfriend. They've only been out a couple of times, as far as I know. Did he tell you about her?" he asked rather incredulously.  
  
"She answered his phone when I called Saturday morning."  
  
"Oh." The bleakness in her voice made Weiss suddenly felt very, very uncomfortable. "It's possible, I guess. But at least we know he's OK, right? And that's the important thing."  
  
She nodded. She should be relieved, she knew. And she was. He wasn't lying dead in his apartment from an SD-6 assassin or comatose in some hospital -- only two of the images that had assailed her since that morning. She was glad of that, so unspeakably glad. She wasn't sure she could have borne anything happening to him; sometimes she thought that he was the only thing that could possibly keep her sane and alive.   
  
But now, it was as if she had exchanged one set of tormenting images for another. And now the other half of those images had a name. Sarah. Such a nice, normal name. She was probably a nice, normal woman. Which she herself could never be.  
  
As she was driving home, it occurred to her that she wasn't sure if she had remembered to thank Weiss on her way out or had simply left without speaking.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Later that night  
Sydney and Francie's apartment  
  
"We've got a secure line for three minutes." Sydney clutched the phone to her ear, her stomach lurching at the sound of Eric Weiss' voice. "I'm not quite sure why I'm telling you this, but Sarah called Amanda -- that's my girlfriend -- this evening. She's still in town. So she didn't go with Mike, wherever he went. I just ... felt like I should tell you. For whatever reason."  
  
"Thank you," she breathed, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. It was staggering just how much that bit of news lifted her spirits. Maybe his relationship with Sarah wasn't that serious after all. Maybe it had just been a one-night stand.  
  
Of course, that hardly seemed like Vaughn's style. Then again, neither did running off on vacation without a word to any of his friends.  
  
"He still hasn't called you?" she asked.  
  
"No. But he is on vacation, you know. Fun, relaxation, getting away from it all. I wouldn't call me."  
  
Still, it nagged at Sydney's mind. "But don't you think the way he did it is just strange? Why would he take off without saying anything to either of us? If he wasn't going away to be with ... Sarah, then why would he, this suddenly?"  
  
Weiss was silent for a moment. Then she heard him take a deep breath. "Look, Sydney, I like you. I want you to know that, OK? But Mike is my best friend, and he's been kind of messed up lately. He's been worrying too much, letting stuff get to him too much. He hasn't been himself. I'm afraid he's going to get himself fired. Or worse."  
  
"Because of me, you mean." Sydney could feel something twist deep inside her.  
  
"I'm just saying, some time away will do him good. He needs it. Don't worry, OK?"  
  
She nodded halfheartedly, before realizing how silly that was. "I'll try. Thanks for letting me know about ... you know."  
  
* * * * *  
  
2 a.m. that night  
Jack Bristow's car  
Alley behind Suds 'N' Duds laundromat  
Los Angeles  
  
"Thanks for meeting me," Sydney said as she slid into the passenger's seat, shutting the door firmly behind her.  
  
"Of course," Jack replied in his usual moderated tones. "What's so urgent? Did something happen in Budapest --"  
  
"I need you to help me find Vaughn."  
  
Jack's eyes widened almost imperceptively. "What?"  
  
"Weiss said that he's on vacation, but he didn't tell either of us that he was going. That's not like him. He told me not to worry, but I just can't shake the feeling that there's something more to it, that there's something wrong."  
  
"Sydney --"  
  
"You could ask Devlin. Maybe he told Devlin where he was going."  
  
Jack shook his head. "I will not. It's none of my business. And it's none of yours, either."  
  
Sydney blinked and leaned backward against the door, taken aback at the finality in his voice. "But if something's wrong, I need to know! I mean, this affects my cover and my missions. I need him to give me my counter-missions."  
  
"Agent Weiss is fully capable of acting as your handler for a few days or weeks. As are any number of other agents."  
  
"I don't want anyone else! I want Vaughn! And I want to know that he's OK!" Sydney knew that she was shouting, was becoming out of control, but she couldn't stop herself. She was frustrated and worried and tired ... and frightened. The past few weeks had thrown her decidedly off-kilter, and this thing with Vaughn ... it was too much. Everything felt wrong. The need to know where he was had become over-whelming.  
  
"Sydney, you're behaving like a child. And I am not going to aid you in this inappropriate concern for Agent Vaughn's whereabouts. I made a mistake interceding for you on Noah Hicks' behalf, when it was against my better judgment. I won't do that again."  
  
Sydney flinched as if he had struck her. "Vaughn isn't like Noah, and you know it. You know him." She shook her head and reached for the door handle. "Fine, if you won't help me, I'll ask Devlin myself."  
  
Jack grabbed her arm. "Sydney, I suggest that you leave this alone."  
  
She turned back to him, and the gravity in his eyes suddenly made her heart lurch at the realization that seeped over her. "He's not on vacation, is he?" she whispered. Jack didn't reply, merely continued his steady gaze. "Tell me," she implored.   
  
Jack gave a small sigh of frustration. "No, he is not. He is on an assignment. And that is all that I am going to tell you."  
  
"But he's not a field agent! He's my handler! Why would Devlin send him on a mission?"  
  
"Perhaps he felt that Agent Vaughn had received sufficient experience in his outings with you."  
  
Jack's shot hit home, but she refused to be distracted by it. "But why Vaughn? Surely there were dozens of other agents that could have been sent instead."  
  
"Vaughn was uniquely qualified for this particular mission."  
  
Sydney chewed on her lip. "Sloane hasn't assigned me a mission. Maybe I could --"  
  
"For God's sake, Sydney, you are NOT going to go join Vaughn on this mission. Are you insane? It has nothing to do with SD-6, and even it did, you couldn't help him. Apart from the fact that being seen with him would ensure both your deaths -- or have you forgotten that? -- this is strictly a need-to-know solo op."  
  
"You're telling me they sent Vaughn on a mission *without backup*? All the more reason why I should --"  
  
"Do nothing! Anything you could do would only endanger him. Listen to me, Sydney. There is nothing you can do to help him, except stay out of it. If you care about him as much as it's obvious you do, you have to let him do his job without interference. You just have to wait."  
  
Wait? How could she just *wait*? Every part of her screamed to find him, to help him, to *do* something. "It's dangerous, isn't it?"  
  
"It's always dangerous. You know that."  
  
She looked down. She hadn't even realized that one of her hands was clutching the door handle. Dimly, she recognized the fact that her palm hurt. But she didn't let go. Concentrating on he pain seemed to crystallize her thoughts. She looked back up at her father. "You said it was need-to-know. If it's not related to SD-6, how do you know about it?"  
  
"Devlin wanted to know if I thought Agent Vaughn was up to the mission. It was my opinion that he was."  
  
She stared at him, emotions at war in her mind. Part of her felt a strange surge of pride and satisfaction that Jack had considered Vaughn worthy of this mission. She knew how hard it was to impress her father. But the other part of her surged with anger that he had agreed with sending Vaughn into danger. If he hadn't approved, Vaughn would be safe in L.A. "How could you?" she demanded of him silently, but his gaze gave her no answer. She blinked back the tears that she felt welling up in her eyes.  
  
"When is he going to be back?"  
  
"That is ... uncertain. But it will be before next Wednesday, if...."  
  
He stopped himself abruptly, but she knew what he was going to say: "If he's coming back."  
  
She turned her head to stare out the windshield at the darkness, at the boxes in an untidy pile beside the dumpster, at the cracked pavement littered with papers, at the boarded-up window of the old dance studio next door, at the graffiti on the brick wall, at the distant glow of a street light between the two buildings. She saw none of them.  
  
She could only see his face.  
  
------  
  
OK, finish the last chapter of this, or work on one of the 137 SydVaughn post-finale reunion scenarios that are crowding my mind? Because, you know, VAUGHN ISN'T DEAD. I refuse to even entertain that notion. Hear me, J.J.? Fear the wrath of the Vartan Hos. 


	4. Found

Aphelion, Chapter 4: Found  
By: Souris  
Feedback: souris@vartanho.com  
Rating: Upping this chapter to "R" for naughty language!  
Author's Note: Ah, the end! And there's a lot of emotional baggage and angst to be taken care of.... (Thanks to Bella for the beta!)  
  
Warehouse  
City of Industry  
Seven days later  
  
Sydney walked slowly into the warehouse. The hope that she had felt the previous three times she had walked into their meeting place had been replaced by something more like dread. She didn't know how many more times she could endure finding Weiss standing there. Each time she saw him instead of the man she wanted to see -- ached to see -- part of her crumbled away.  
  
It was Monday, and her father's Wednesday deadline loomed ominously in the back of her mind. Each day since he had told her, she had awoken praying that she would hear something that day. She had heard nothing.  
  
Her father had been no further help. Vaughn would not make contact until the mission was over, so he had nothing to tell her and informed her that he wouldn't have, even if he could have.  
  
If her sleep had been disturbed before, now it was practically nonexistent. When Francie and Will had mentioned her haggard appearance, she had mumbled about a crisis at the bank. When Dixon had told her he was worried about her and asked her what was wrong, she had made up a story about being stuck in the middle of a major falling out between Francie and Will. She wasn't sure if any of them had believed her. Frankly, she didn't care, as long as they didn't press her.  
  
She couldn't tell any of them the truth. There was only one person to whom she could tell the truth.  
  
She turned the corner, her steps hesitant -- and there he was.  
  
Her breath caught, and relief sapped all the energy from her body. For a moment, she thought her legs were going to give way, and she had to reach out to grab a crate to steady herself.  
  
"Vaughn," she whispered, almost afraid to believe her eyes. He was wearing a dark gray suit, though he'd taken off the jacket and tossed it across the back of a chair. There was a bruise on one cheek, a small bandage over his eyebrow and dark circles underneath his eyes.   
  
She had never seen a more beautiful sight.   
  
Strength returned to her legs, and she practically ran to embrace him, heedless of anything but her joy at seeing him. She buried her face in the soft material of his blue oxford, breathing in the scent of him, the *nearness* of him. "Thank God you're OK!" For a few glorious moments, his arms were tight around her, one hand buried in her hair, and everything was right with the world again. Everything was perfect. "Where were you?" she asked softly, barely stopping herself from nuzzling his chest.  
  
To her disappointment, he loosened his grip then, pulling away from her, leaving her feeling bereft. "France. I'm sorry, I can't tell you any more than that. Orders from Devlin. It didn't have anything to do with SD-6, though."  
  
She nodded, trying to ignore the hurt that his words had caused. The most important thing -- the only important thing -- was that he was alive and standing next to her. But, still, it was strange to have him keep something from her. Even if she understood, it was ... disconcerting. It felt wrong. They weren't supposed to have any secrets.  
  
His voice softened a little. "Sydney? What's wrong? You look ... tired."  
  
She had been hanging by a thread for weeks, and his concerned words caused something inside her to suddenly snap, unleashing a maelstrom of emotion. "What's *wrong*???" she burst out, relief changing to incredulity and fury. "How about the fact that I haven't slept for a week wondering if you were dead or alive? Do you have any fucking idea how worried I've been? Do you?"  
  
He regarded her gravely. "Yes, I do. I know all about worry, Sydney."  
  
The raw honesty in his voice stopped her for a moment, and she knew that he was talking about her. It sent a wave of warmth through her. But then, perversely, it made her even angrier.  
  
"Then how could you do that to me?" she demanded. "How could you go off without a word to me? At least you know where I *am* when I'm on a mission. I didn't know *anything*! Weiss didn't know anything!"   
  
"It was top secret, Sydney!" he shot back. "And, anyway, you were in Budapest. I couldn't exactly leave a message with Francie, now could I?"  
  
"You should have found a way! I had to beg my father to find out that you hadn't run off with some other woman!" She began to beat on his chest with her fists, too upset to restrain herself or think about her words. All she could think about was hurting him as much as she had hurt. "God damn it, Vaughn, how could you just leave me like that?! You're not supposed to go anywhere! You're supposed to be *here*!"  
  
He grabbed her wrists, his grip startlingly strong. "So that's what all this is about, then? You were scared you'd lost your lapdog? I'm just supposed to sit by the phone and be at your beck and call whenever you want somebody to dump all your shit on? Of course I'm not good enough for anything *else*! It's only about what you want!" His face was close to hers, his voice bitter and sharp enough to cut.  
  
She jerked her hands from his grasp but didn't back away. "What do you know about what I want? What do you care? You've been so busy screwing *Sarah*" -- she practically spit the name in his face -- "that you haven't even looked at me in weeks! It's like you can't get away from me fast enough!"  
  
He barked out a humorless laugh. "Oh, that's rich! Why don't we talk about Noah, then? You were sure thinking about *me* a lot while you were falling into bed with him! And at least Sarah isn't a hired assassin who gets off on ice-picking people!"  
  
The crack from her hand making contact with his cheek reverberated in the warehouse. For a moment, they just stared at each other, eyes wide, all the fire between them suddenly doused by the cold horror of realization.  
  
"I'm sorry," she breathed, aghast.  
  
"Me, too." He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. "What the hell is this? What are we doing?" He felt as if he wanted to throw up. This wasn't at all what he had envisioned. How had they gotten to this point?  
  
"I don't know." Her eyes were stricken. She had *hit* him. *Him*. She didn't want to hurt him, never him.  
  
"Sydney, we can't keep on like this," he said, his voice agitated.  
  
"I know." She could feel moisture welling up in her eyes, and she ran a hand across them, willing the burgeoning tears not to fall, letting her hair fall across her face.  
  
The solution was obvious. Sickening, hateful, maybe too hard, but obvious -- and probably for the best. "Someone else should be assigned to your case --"  
  
She jerked her head up, heart constricting. "No, Vaughn! No! I can't do this without you."  
  
"You could. You'd be fine. You'd probably even be better off. This isn't right."  
  
She shook her head dismissively. "I won't do this without you. I mean it. You're the only one I trust, the only one I *will* trust." Her voice was desperate, yet held a firmness that told him plainly that it wasn't an option. She was perfectly capable of telling the CIA where to stick it, and he knew it. He also knew, to his utter shame, that he wasn't capable of walking away from her completely, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise. She was in his blood, in his soul, and nothing he did was going to change that. Facing death had a way of clarifying things.  
  
Another possibility insinuated itself into his mind, heady and dangerous and foolish and infinitely seductive. Compared to the other, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, just maybe.... "Then the only other choice is, we stop fighting ... this." He waved his hand in the air separating them. "Whatever this is between us. Because fighting it clearly isn't working. It's tearing us apart. I can't imagine that giving in could be any more destructive."  
  
She simply stared at him, and he suddenly felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Why had he said that? For a few moments, he had believed that maybe she did care for him the way he did her. Why else would she have brought up Sarah? But maybe he had been right in convincing himself that she wasn't interested in him. Maybe now she *would* want him to stop being her handler. "I mean, if you think there's something between us. If you're interested."  
  
Finally, after what was to him an excruciating, embarrassing silence, she spoke. And it wasn't anything that he had imagined her saying. "Vaughn, I need to tell you about Noah."  
  
"What? Syd, I don't want to --"  
  
"I know, but I really need to explain something to you, OK? Something I just figured out this week. Something important."  
  
He sighed, resigned to hearing still more about the man whose name he never wanted to hear again. What were the chances this wasn't going to hurt like hell? Still, as usual, he could not deny her. "Go ahead."  
  
"I know that I was reckless with Noah and didn't think about what I was doing. I was stupid. But, Vaughn, I was scared."  
  
He furrowed his brow, perplexed. "Of what?"  
  
"Of you."  
  
This made him blink. "Wha -- me? Why?" he burst out, his voice rising in surprise.  
  
"Because I was afraid that I was forgetting about why I'm doing this. When I thought about taking down SD-6, I wasn't thinking about avenging Danny or the good of the country so much anymore. I was thinking about being free to go to a hockey game with you. God, I felt so guilty. How could I think about the future? About you? How could I have these feelings? And how could I risk it, risk losing you? I couldn't survive that. I just couldn't. Between that and finding out about my mother -- I was so confused. And then Noah came back. I knew him first, you see. He didn't make me feel like I was cheating on Danny. I thought he would be 'safe.' I thought he could make all those other things go away."   
  
She gave a rueful, sad smile, then looked up at him, her eyes wide and moist and pained. "I'm so sorry for hurting you," she continued. "I've missed you so much the past few weeks. I knew it was my fault, but I didn't know how to make it better. And then when you were gone, I was terrified that I'd never see you again. I couldn't think about anything else. I couldn't ignore it anymore, and I was just so afraid that it was too late and I'd never get to tell you."  
  
Tears had started to trickle down her cheeks, and his heart seemed to break and expand at the same time. He cupped her cheek gently, forcing her to look at him fully. "Sydney--"  
  
"Vaughn, I need you. Even if SD-6 was destroyed tomorrow, I'd still need you."  
  
He felt a strange lightness come over him. Weeks of burden and pain and uncertainty seemed to evaporate into nothingness. "I need you, too, Sydney. I thought about you so much when I was in France. I tried not to, but oh, God, Sydney, I couldn't wait to see you again."  
  
They leaned into one another then, barriers shattered, mouths meeting at last. The kiss started tentatively, sweetly, as they adjusted to the feel of one another's lips, to the honeyed taste of long-forbidden fruit. They opened their mouths to one another, sighing with pleasure, with relief, delving deeper, ever deeper. Gradually, the kiss became passionate, almost frenzied, heat rising, as months of submerged desires and emotions came clamoring to the surface, begging for release at last. Tongues dueled and stroked, hands roamed freely, breath came in gasps as their lips broke apart briefly, only to claim one another again as soon as their lungs would allow.  
  
When they finally drew apart, they were sitting on one of the chairs, her in his lap, although neither could remember how they got there. She took a deep breath and leaned her head against his shoulder, content but for one thing, one question that had to be answered. There would be other questions later, of course, questions of danger and secrecy and life and death, but there was only one that concerned her at the moment.  
  
"What about Sarah?" she asked softly.  
  
He groaned. "She's wonderful. And I've been horribly unfair to her. I didn't mean to, but I've just been using her. I've been trying so hard to forget about you. I thought she could help me forget. But it's all been about you, Sydney. Sarah doesn't deserve to be in the middle of this. I can never apologize to her enough," he said sadly, guilt preying at his conscience.  
  
She nodded, accepting this, in spite of the hurt that still nibbled at her heart. After Noah, she could do no less. How could she possibly judge him for doing the same thing that she had done? "I was so jealous."  
  
"I think maybe I wanted you to be." He kissed her hair gently.  
  
She tightened her arms around him. "We almost made a mess of everything, didn't we?"  
  
"We still could, you know."  
  
She leaned back and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I don't think we will. Not now."  
  
He reached up to caress her cheek, and they smiled at each other.   
  
And they moved toward perihelion.  
  
**END**  
  
  
Perihelion: The point in the path of a celestial body that is nearest to the sun. (In case you couldn't guess from context! ;-)  
  
I hope that was worth the angst! 


End file.
